


Paint Fumes and Sock Mountains

by onceuponamoon



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basement, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most awesome thing, Gerard decides, about Frank is the fact that he will let Gerard have sex with him at almost any time on any surface in any way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint Fumes and Sock Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am a lying liar that lies. This is purely a work of fiction. I do not, in any way, profit from this fictional creation or own any characters in this story. I own absolutely nothing.

The most awesome thing, Gerard decides, about Frank is the fact that he will let Gerard have sex with him at almost any time on any surface in any way. And not only will he let Gerard fuck him, or vice versa, but he actually _wants_ to. With Gerard. Stinky, smelly, self-centered, basement-dwelling Gerard who oftentimes forgets about anything but how to draw or paint or useless facts about Doom Patrol or Next Generation. Gets to have sex. With _Frank_.

"Wanna do it on the floor or against the wall?" Frank asks from somewhere near the pile of shit beside Gerard's bed. "Ooh, new issue...I don't think your desk will hold us again."

"Um, floor," Gerard says absentmindedly. "Think this needs more blood?" He cocks his head to the side and stares at the canvas like maybe it'll tell him the answer to his question rather than Frank.

Frank sidles up behind him, hands sneaking beneath the waistband of Gerard's Batman pajama pants to rest on his hips, before answering, "Yeah, on her throat maybe. Or no, right there." And he points to the exact spot that Gerard was debating with himself about. Gerard also decides that is the reason why he thinks he might be completely in love with Frank. "I'm surprised you even noticed I was here....you're so sexy when you're focused." Frank giggles and then licks that spot on the side of Gerard's neck that guarantees a moan of some sort.

Gerard bites his lip, chokes one back, and then dabs some more red onto the canvas. "I actually didn't," he says as he adds a bit of black onto the red with quick, decisive strokes. "But I think my cock is more in tune with your presence than my mind. I'm assuming you got here fifteen minutes ago." He dabs a little bit more black and then blends it into the red, turning it darker. "Am I right?"

Frank giggles into Gerard's shoulder and that's just about answer enough. "Twenty, actually. You were still working on the zombie." He releases Gerard's hips, letting the elastic snap back in his place, slips away back into the junk covering the floor of Gerard's room.

"Ah," Gerard muses, setting down his paintbrush and then taking a step back to look at his work. "Think it's too much?"

Frank snorts, still hidden somewhere near Gerard's bed. "No, now come here. I didn't spend twenty minutes sifting through your shit for nothing."

"How'd you know I'd pick the floor?" Gerard asks, finally locating Frank between a mountain of dirty socks and underwear and a pile of comic books.

"You're a lazy fucker," Frank says. And then snorts at his unintentional joke. "C'mere, Gee."

Gerard shuffles over, carding his hair through his sticky paint-fingers without even noticing, and flops down on top of the pile of dirty laundry next to Frank. "I'm not _that_ lazy..." he sighs.

Frank pulls Gerard down on top of him, letting out an " _oof_ " at the oxygen in his lungs being displaced by Gerard's weight, and then smiles at the way Gerard keeps his eyes closed like he just doesn't have the energy to keep them open after he blinks. Gerard’s just being obnoxious, really.

Frank kisses him. He pulls Gerard's lower lip with his own and licks his way into Gerard's mouth. And Frank makes it really awesome for Gerard, just taking control like that because Gerard is, indeed, a lazy fucker that can't really be bothered to do more than just lay there on top of Frank with his mouth open. Frank does all the tricks—tongue swirling and rolling and sliding and he even nibbles on Gerard's lip just the way he likes. And just as Frank would normally start getting pretty miffed about Gerard's lack of participation, Gerard finally rolls his hips down on to Frank's and makes this surprised noise, like maybe he wasn’t expecting Frank to be just as hard as he is.

Gerard also really likes how Frank makes this constant pleased humming sound once Gerard actually puts forth some effort. So, Gerard starts to twist his tongue with Frank’s because it makes the sound grow out from Frank’s chest into Gerard’s and it’s really doing wonders to his half-hard cock. Frank does this sneaky maneuver where he flips them over without even biting Gerard’s tongue or kneeing him in the crotch. Seriously, Gerard barely notices. He only realizes it once he opens his eyes to see the yellowed basement ceiling instead of the mountain of dirty socks, which happen to cushion his head as he throws it back, and yeah, Gerard is impressed.

Sliding a quick hand down between their bodies, Frank backs off to watch the way Gerard groans as Frank rubs over the thin cotton crotch of his Batman pajamas. Frank wriggles his fingers until they press the material snuggly against Gerard’s groin so that he can firmly grasp the swelling length. Gerard gasps.

“I missed you,” Gerard sighs as Frank starts a slow, gentle tug. “I really, really missed you.”

Frank giggles and then licks his way across Gerard’s crooked mouth. “You’re only saying that because my hand is on your dick. Plus you saw me three days ago.”

“No, I did. I did,” Gerard pants. “Really,” he breathes. “I missed you.”

And maybe it’s because Gerard made this admission, plus the fact that his hair is all fanned out and his cheeks are flushed pink and he’s all soft and sprawled over the only visible spot of floor in the room, but Frank can’t really take all the waiting anymore. His hips hitch forwards, tense, and he grinds against Gerard’s thigh and has to choke back a noise that would most likely resemble a purr.

Gerard makes a noise and, only because Frank knows Gerard’s various noises, Frank moves back to allow Gerard enough room to start pulling at Frank’s clothes. He tugs at his shirt, whereupon Frank sits up completely, straddling Gerard’s thighs, and takes care of it himself. Frank tosses his inside-out Misfits shirt onto Gerard’s bed where it gets lost among the other black articles of clothing, not that Frank won’t be able to locate it by finding the one shirt that doesn’t smell like Way armpit.

Gerard makes another noise, this time impatient. Frank turns back to him and helps him with his own shirt, another black to add to the pile. Frank thinks about maybe doing some laundry before he has to leave but then Gerard pulls him back down, skin to skin, and all other thoughts but _Gerard, Gerard, Gerard_ leave his mind.

“I love how soft you are, Gee,” Frank murmurs into Gerard’s neck as he writhes against him. “So perfect.”

And then Gerard makes the most content noise Frank has ever heard before he slowly lunges upward to slant his mouth against Frank’s.

Frank is all tight and compact, almost hard but not entirely because of the lack of definition, where Gerard is soft and pale. Gerard sometimes imagines Frank getting lost in all of his pudge, but Frank usually says or does something that pulls him from that, turns him around, and makes him sprint in the opposite direction—with a smile on his face. Frank makes Gerard feel beautiful.

“Frankie,” Gerard says, almost solemnly, pulling away with a slick noise from Frank’s mouth. “Frankie.” Gerard brings a hand up to stroke at Frank’s cheek and when Frank turns and nuzzles into Gerard’s palm, he really has to fight with himself. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever this is that they share by blurting something as insensitive as _God, I love you_ when they’re about to have sex. On Gerard’s dirty floor among a pile of laundry that is growing more microorganisms and bacteria than the bottom of the Watsessing River. He doesn’t want to do that to Frank.

But then Frank starts kind of gnawing on Gerard’s palm, the sentimental feeling diminishing from Gerard’s chest as he wracks through a set of giggles, and Gerard has a feeling that Frank knows. He’s okay with that. Plus it’s not like he’s going to ask or say anything about it, right?

Because that might make things weird—like the time Gerard casually mentioned wanting to maybe experiment with cross-dressing because of the way this fabric moved when they walked past it in the mall. It was a dress—black and almost sheer, maybe chiffon or silk and lace or something, he couldn’t tell. He wasn’t really thinking about actually _doing_ it or anything. Well…not much. Frank had stumbled a little in his tracks, shoes scuffing over the cheap linoleum, and looked up at Gerard with really wide, really dark eyes. Gerard couldn’t make much of his expression, so he simply breezed on to some other subject, something safe—like how Batman was better than Superman. He hasn’t mentioned it again since.

Frank nips at Gerard’s wrist, bringing him back from those thoughts and back into the present where there are definitely more pressing matters to be dealt with. Such as the hardness tight against his stomach as Frank makes a tiny humping motion and trails his little bites down Gerard’s arm, to his inner elbow, to the fleshy parts of his relaxed bicep, to his shoulder and up his neck and finally, _finally_ , back to Gerard’s lips.

Keening into Frank’s mouth, Gerard decides he can’t really take it anymore and he just. He needs more. And now. So he slides his hands across Frank’s back, blunt fingertips pressing harshly into the flesh and trails them down to Frank’s ass where he squeezes, almost harshly, so that maybe Frank will get that, if the noises aren’t working or something.

A shudder rips through Frank and Gerard thinks _yeah, that’s it Frankie_ because then Frank leans back on Gerard’s thighs and fumbles with his belt buckle for a second while Gerard watches, running his fingers over his chest. Frank groans in frustration and Gerard bites his own lip, fighting a smile.

“ _Gerard,_ ” Frank pants, still tugging on his pants. “Don’t just fucking watch, fucking help me.”

Snorting, Gerard sits up and nearly knocks Frank from atop his thighs. But Frank’s starting to get a little desperate, clenching his thighs tightly around Gerard’s before relaxing them as he grinds slowly back and forth while Gerard works on his belt. The belt is pink, which really doesn’t surprise Gerard considering that Frank is right there with him on his debate about assigned gender roles and colors and hardly disguised misogynic propaganda on magazines and billboards. Gerard smiles. He also thinks that Frank might just wear it to piss people off. Which is totally working because Gerard is having almost as much trouble getting the damn thing unclasped as Frank was.

“Frank, your fucking belt. Seriously.” Gerard nearly gets it undone, but one of the little clasp things goes backwards and is going to take some serious arm strength to go back in the proper direction. “Oh, my god. I’m going to go get scissors.”

And only because he is so fucking frustrated, does Gerard literally stand up and start to fight his way through the various piles of shit around his floor—comics, stained shirts, charcoals, ratty jeans, underwear, color pencils, paint brushes—until he makes it to the door. By then Frank is seriously squirming and trying to fix his belt because if Gerard actually got up, then Gerard is serious and Frank really, _really_ likes this belt.

Finally, Frank manhandles the latch back into place. “No, wait, Gee! I got it!” he shouts, frantically pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans.

Gerard returns, brandishing a _huge_ heavy duty pair of scissors that look like they’re meant to cut fucking tires or something. He snips the air a few times, making a nice _shing, shing_ noise that Frank would find hilarious if it hadn’t have been his belt at stake. Gerard stops right inside the door after he shoves it closed and knocks the chair back into place in case anyone decides to come home at the most inconvenient time of all times. “Well, fuck, Frankie,” Gerard whines, dropping the scissors onto his desk, and maybe stamps his foot a little before he can register the fact.

“Get over here, please,” Frank says, tone uneven as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans. “I’m like, dying.”

So Gerard shuffles back through the mess, not getting distracted even though he sees a sketch that he was pretty sure was gone forever, and flops back down in the space that Frank cleared off. He leans farther on his back, cushioned by dirty socks, and yanks his Batmans down over his hips and momentarily thanks himself for going commando. Or being too lazy to pick out a pair of not rancid briefs from the pile on his floor.

Frank groans, eyes locked on the hard length straining from Gerard’s groin and curving up to his belly as he pushes his own pants away from his hips and down his legs. “Gerard, _fuck_ ,” he moans as Gerard curves a hand around his own cock, like maybe Frank’s already pressed inside, being squeezed to death by all the slick tightness. “You’re killing me here.” He shakes his jeans off of his bare feet, kicking at them until they’re lodged somewhere underneath Gerard’s bed.

Patience lost, Gerard leans forward and yanks Frank by the wrist down on top of him. He thrust upwards and lets his mouth gape open, too needy to be ashamed of his desperation. Frank promptly grinds down, clothed erection sliding against Gerard’s bare one, tonguing at Gerard’s lips as he does so, and Gerard is really, _really_ ready to get things moving a little faster.

So Gerard starts tonguing back, something almost disgustingly slick and obscene and straight out of porn, but Frank is totally getting a kick out of it—making these _noises_ and grinding down all frantically while his hands slide all over Gerard’s skin, alternating between gentle patterns and light squeezing as he sees fit. Gerard groans, finding the perfect angle and amount of pressure to make the grinding feel absolutely awesome, fingers firmly pressed into Frank’s back and neck—Jack-o-lantern and scorpion, fingers curling around to his “Keep the Faith” script.

Frank writhes a little harder, things becoming damp between them, the slide becoming so much sweeter.

“Gee,” Frank says, sounding fucking _undone_. “Yeah.” Then he slides down and, before Gerard is even completely aware of it, has a mouthful of Gerard’s cock.

Gerard’s mouth gapes and little half-noises start and stutter out as he tries to wrap his mind around the intensity of being enveloped by wet and hot and _Frank_. He realizes he sort of sounds like he’s being strangled and then pretends that he can control his vocal chords even though he knows that there’s no hope as long as Frank keeps mouthing, tonguing, sucking at him, “Just like that, Jesus _fuck._ ” Frank pulls Gerard’s dick farther into his mouth, not quite deep throating, but still considerably more than just the average sucking. Gerard squeaks and throws an arm over his eyes.

And then Frank pulls off with a, “Sorry, I had to,” and then slides back up Gerard’s body, moving Gerard’s arm away before he starts grinding against him once again.

A whining noise escapes Gerard. “No, no, no, Frank, no, come on,” Gerard intones. “ _Please?_ ” Gerard shoves his hand into Frank’s briefs, pink to match his belt because Frank is occasionally an obnoxious little shit like that, Gerard has noticed, and curves his hand around Frank all damp with sweat and a little gross but completely perfect and just what they both need. Gripping a little firmer, really getting a feel of the weight and heat of Frank, Gerard starts this grasp-slide-tease technique that he’s sure he picked up from Frank.

Shuddering, Frank hisses out a, “Yes,” and humps into the tight circle Gerard forms with his fist, practically vibrating.

“Are you— _fuck_. I’m, _god_ , okay. We have to—like now.” Gerard doesn’t know exactly what he’s trying to say, but he knows exactly what he wants to do right this very second and it involves Frank’s briefs cast aside and Frank’s fingers pressing inside. “Frank,” Gerard groans and lets go of Frank’s dick, this time really _trying_ to be coherent. “Take them off now.” _Seriously._

Gerard’s already got the lube uncapped and a finger pressed against his own hole, teasing himself open, shuddering, before Frank even has his thumbs hooked underneath the waistband of his own underwear. He presses a finger inside and squirms around the feeling of intrusion until it’s a little more comfortable— _good_ , even.

“ _Gerard,_ ” Frank said, his breathy tone making Gerard’s stomach drop. “You can’t just _do_ that, Jesus fucking _Christ_.”

Gerard glances up at Frank, still paused mid depantsing, and makes a tiny, impatient noise that pretty much says _yes I can, and I will, fuck you very much_. Frank flops backwards, landing on a pile of what smells like dirty underwear—seriously, straight up funk—and frantically yanks his underwear down. Gerard giggles…and then groans, because he just squeezed the fuck out of his fingers, two now, which led to _oh, my god I am so doing that when Frank gets inside me, fuck._

Practically fucking himself on his own hand, Gerard writhes, watching Frank watch him with a hand squeezing around the base of his cock. Frank groans and Gerard’s stomach does that thing again. With his free hand, Gerard reaches back behind his head into the pile of socks to grasp the condom between his thumb and forefinger to fling at Frank.

Frank fumbles for the condom, nearly ripping it in half as he tears open the packaging, and he’s panting as he slides it over his dick. He squeezes his base again, still watching Gerard have a go at himself—spindly fingers, three now, inside of himself, thumbing at his perineum, head thrown back, neck exposed, _writhing_. “Okay, Gee,” Frank spits out. “Okay.”

When Frank scoots closer and runs his hands, his rough, practiced calluses skimming over the pale, smoothness of Gerard’s thighs, Gerard nearly loses it and thinks that he seriously might come before Frank is even inside of him because this has been the most arduous process he’s ever had to endure just to get at a guy’s dick. But Frank is there, finally, nudging Gerard’s legs apart and the blunt tip of his cock pressing against Gerard’s ass, burning hot.

“C’mon, Gerard, move your hand,” Frank grits out.

“Oh,” Gerard breathes. “Sorry, sorry. Okay.”

 _Finally_ , Frank folds Gerard’s legs back and starts pressing inside. Gerard’s breath hitches at the overwhelming stretch and sweet burn and the entire _fuck yes, that’s exactly what I need_ that shudders through his body as Frank melds them together, hissing. His mouth gapes open, he realizes after Frank has finally settled completely inside and started nipping at Gerard’s chin. Gerard scrabbles for purchase, a dirty rag in one hand and nothing but carpet in the other as his fingers dig down, and Frank breathes out hot and rough over his neck.

“Ready?” Frank asks.

Gerard practically growls, garbling out something nonsensical and brings his fingers to Frank’s back so that he can hold onto something. Flesh, malleable and perfect underneath his hold. “ _Please._ ”

Frank giggles, then hisses, sucking in a breath as Gerard tightens down on him almost cruelly considering how hard it is to be, well, relatively still to let Gerard get used to him, fuck. “Ah, ah, stop, okay, okay, sorry.” And then Gerard lets up. “ _Shit,_ ” he says, just breathing for a second because really.

Things go really well, a smooth beginning considering how difficult the transitioning was.

The carpet is rough against Gerard’s back, Frank’s knees too, but they’re too far into it to really pay the minor annoyance any attention. Gerard thrusts up as Frank grinds down, caught between whimpers and moans. It’s slick and tight and the friction makes Gerard’s vision blur as he scrabbles at Frank’s chest, the glistening inked lines going in and out of focus.

Gerard howls the first time Frank hits his prostate dead on; Frank shudders in retaliation, pressing against it even harder which causes Gerard to dissolve into pleasured gasps that almost mimic sobs. Frank stills, pressing tight against it—and Gerard goes numb to everything except for the white pleasure coursing through his body, like starbursts radiating from the base of his spine, the pit of his stomach. He shudders, whimpering, and attempts to writhe away from the almost _too much too much too much_.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Frank_ , fuck,” Gerard chants, like those are the only sounds he knows. Frank, sweating and brows furrowed in concentration, slumps closer to Gerard, folding his legs back until his knees are nearly pressed to his own shoulders, and resumes his established rhythm of thrusting. Gerard is reduced to incoherent noises and his eyes see nothing but the sensation of Frank drilling into him, blooms of red and white and pink and hot behind Gerard’s screwed shut eyelids. Then Frank _really_ starts going at it—low _ah ah_ ’s and leaking obscenities, thrusting harder and faster like he can’t help it.

“Jesus fuck, _Gerard,_ ” Frank grits out, already too far past close to realize he’s already gone. He comes _hard_ , silently—mouth agape in a silent scream as his cock empties into Gerard, his entire body twitching once, twice, three times before he slumps forward onto Gerard’s folded legs.

Frank shudders a few more times before he pulls out and rolls off to the side, face down on the sock mountain. Gerard really, really doesn’t want to say anything rude like, “ _Hey, remember me? You just fucked me until I couldn’t see straight. Well, my cock could really use some sucking,_ ” even though he really, really wants to. Since he’s a considerate guy, he allows Frank a few more—six, maybe—seconds of post coital glow before he nudges him, hand wrapped around his own dick.

Lifting his face from the laundry, Frank groans and reaches underneath himself to extract his cock from the condom which he promptly ties off and flings near Gerard’s bathroom for later. He sighs, turns to look at Gerard with kind of an _oh, hey, sup_ face, eyes half-closed. Frank doesn’t even look sorry.

Gerard whines.

“Okay, okay,” Frank giggles. He hefts himself up on his elbows, reaching into the socks to get the lube. Gerard watches with curious eyes, still panting and clutching at his cock. The frantic need to get off has sort of died down a little, because really, as hot as it was to watch Frank come, it was a little too quick to be enough for Gerard. Frank reaches back behind himself, rubbing lube all around his hole. “Here, you can do me, now.” Gerard doesn’t even blink before he straddles the backs of Frank’s thighs.

Gerard spreads his palms over the skin of Frank’s back—thumbs inward as he caresses downward, pressing into the script circling his hips and the guns near the base of his spine. Frank pushes back, making himself a little more upright so he can spread his knees apart and open up easier for Gerard. “C’mon, Gee, do it,” Frank says lowly, turning his head to look back at Gerard.

Gerard presses inside while their eyes are locked, watching Frank’s go out of focus and roll back as his jaw drops open. And _fuck_ , that face makes the urgency return. Gerard gives Frank an entire sixty seconds to get accustomed to Gerard’s width and length—sixty seconds where Frank is gasping and groaning, squeezing down on Gerard. Finally Frank slumps forward—face turned to the side, cheek sliding against the rough carpet as his hands come to rest on either side of his head. Gerard stays buried inside, slumping forward with Frank to stay pressed along his back, skin slick between them.

Thrusting forward, slowly, Gerard can’t quite wrap his mind around the feelings—Frank in front of him, gasping like he’s enjoying it even though he came only minutes ago; the pressure, warmth, wetness, friction—it’s all so fucking perfect. He humps faster, sliding against Frank a little harder, and breathes against Frank’s neck. Gerard leans back and squeezes the hips between his hands, stroking over the fancy lettering before he leans back a little farther and looks down.

“Oh shit, _Frank_ —” Gerard hisses and comes, shuddering and slumping forward onto Frank’s back. He shivers, breathing harshly, wrapping his arms around Frank’s middle and just stays there, enjoying the moment for as long as he can let it last.

Frank relaxes, lets his body slide slowly across the carpet and socks until he’s pressed against them from Gerard’s weight on his back. They both just lay there, breathing.

“Frank,” Gerard says, tone calm(ish) even though he’s totally sort of completely freaking the fuck out—preparing himself for the worst, never seeing Frank again or hearing his laugh or seeing his smile or just— _Do it now, Gerard. Just get it over with._

Frank hums a content noise.

“Frank.”

Frank hums again, closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of Gerard pressed all along his back.

“I didn’t use a condom.”

Frank just kind of goes, “Naw, shit…” And then moves around, trying to get Gerard off of him. “Gee, move.”

Gerard carefully pulls out, and then flops to the side, lying on his back. Frank sort of braces himself, pushes himself up and then shuffles to the bathroom. Figuring he doesn’t really deserve any afterglow, Gerard instead spends time flailing, both internally and externally, about the fact that he probably just ruined his whole entire thing with Frank. Seriously. Well, at least he knows he’s clean, because really, the only person he’s having sex with is Frank because he just like _gets_ Gerard—he doesn’t expect him to leave the basement or go socialize or even shower more than once a week. Frank is awesome. And Gerard pretty much just ruined it. _God_ , he knew this was all too good to be true—even _Mikey_ didn’t believe him at first, and now—

“Fuck, that really does look awesome,” Frank says, bending over to pull his pink briefs back up his legs. He’s standing in front of Gerard’s easel, tilting his head like he’s critiquing Gerard’s painting, as if absolutely everything is right in the world, like nothing is wrong, like Gerard totally didn’t just _come in Frank’s ass_ like the Most Inconsiderate Idiotic Asswipe of the Year.

“Uh,” Gerard manages. He keeps his eyes trained on Frank’s back, still lying on the floor in their little nest, unmoving and covered in funk. “Thanks…” he says slowly as he finally sits up.

Frank looks back, eyebrows furrowed. “You okay?” he asks.

Gerard swallows, because well, _yeah_. Of course he’s okay; he’s still sort of enjoying his afterglow even though his stomach is curdling with worry. “Yeah, no, I mean—I’m great, yeah,” he fumbles. “Are you…you’re okay?”

Frank steps over Gerard’s art bin, knocks over a few mislaid canvases, and shuffles through all of the dirty laundry until he’s right there, all 5’4” looming over Gerard. He flops down, lying on his back next to Gerard. “I’m fucking great,” Frank sighs, blissed the fuck out. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He rolls over onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at Gerard’s face.

Gerard just kind of blinks. “I didn’t use a condom.”

“You already said that.”

“But—“

“But nothing,” Frank says, flipping his free hand into the air. “You think I wouldn’t’ve stopped you if I wasn’t okay with it?”

Gerard blinks again, slowly. “I didn’t use a condom.”

“Whatever, Gee,” Frank sighs and snuggles into Gerard’s side; Gerard doesn’t even tense up or anything—though his hand does twitch like it wants to go flailing about into the air. Snatching the twitching digits between his fingers, Frank links their hands together and—

 _This is new_ , Gerard thinks. He bites his lip. “Um?”

Frank just smiles. “You are so…” He giggles to himself and shakes his head.


End file.
